


At Your Service

by Salimah



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 09:21:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16851406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salimah/pseuds/Salimah
Summary: There’s a very important dinner tonight in the house, and Hvitserk’s boss wants everything to be perfect. Hvitserk can work with that; he can be the perfect and invisible butler that just smiles and serves champagne. That’s it, if he can get his hands off of the very attractive and neglected wife of his boss.





	At Your Service

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a post @honestsycrets did a while ago where she said how good of a butler Hvitty boy would be. My mind went crazy and here we are. Also I totally suck at writing sex scenes and this is so fucking bad, so let me apologize in advance.
> 
> I think is painfully obvious that english isn’t my first language, so if you see any mistakes in the narration is because of that. Please let me know what do you think!

Mother raised him well, Hvitserk wants to think. He grew up in a world where people had to smile at all times and pretend that their lives weren’t falling apart, so Hvitserk had experience in pleasing others.

And as he remembered his childhood in the big house on the hill with his brothers and the occasional appearances of his father, Hvitserk still wondered how he had ended up there.

And the truth is that he didn’t know why he kept torturing himself in that way, because he knew very well how he ended up living in an apartment just far enough from the dangerous zone of the city and working as a, wait for him, butler.

Because he knew exactly how his life had gone from traveling on yachts and flirting with beautiful women in bikinis to serving drinks – which weren’t even for him, damn it – and licking the boots of wealthy and pretentious men.

A chorus of laughter was heard at the main table and Hvitserk stepped forward to refill the empty glasses. A smile adorned his lips, but the man barely looked in his direction as he left the bottle on the table and returned to his place in the shadows.

Hvitserk hated it, but he was good at it. Maybe way too much. Maybe that was why he was still there, holding back his desire to yell  _‘That’s not how you drink that kind of wine, goddamnit’,_  and not anywhere else.

A maid got in the room pushing the second plate of the night in a cart, and Hvitserk and three other butlers moved to remove the old plates and put the new ones. There was a moment when the conversation at the table was silent, but soon everyone was laughing and chatting while they ate things that were worth the three-month salary of each of the employees in the room.

Half an hour passed without anything interesting to mention, besides from the eye contact he had with the voluptuous wife No. 5, who looked at him like he was a piece of meat before noticing his uniform and looking away quickly, her cheeks blushing in embarrassment. Hvitserk would have given anything to know what she was thinking.

He played with his fingers and tried to listen to the silent conversations men had with each other about their lovers and how the wives pretended not to listen. Sometimes Hvitserk felt guilty, because less than a year ago he was like those people.

And a part of him was happy, to be honest. He came home every day, his small apartment welcoming him with a burned light and a rat forming a family in the kitchen. He liked to torture himself by stalking Ubbe’s social networks, watching the nephews he barely knew grow up through the endless photos that Ubbe insisted on taking every damn day. They talked sometimes, and if Ubbe heard the lie in his voice when he told him everything was fine then he never said anything.

His heart still skipped every time he found a letter from Sigurd in the middle of his bills. It was always a different postcard; Sweden, Greece, Ecuador. Hvitserk never knew exactly where he was, but he hoped he would be going better than him. Bjorn barely spoke to him, too busy looking for a new wife – or trying to get back the last one of his younger brother’s arms – but Hvitserk didn’t care.

Just before the dessert was served, a voice stood out from the others. Hvitserk’s boss, the party Host and owner of the house, stood up and said a few words that Hvitserk didn’t bother to listen to. His attention was on something else.

His boss’s wife sat next to him at the table, a small smile adorning her painted lips. Her eyes looked at her husband with interest that Hvitserk knows is faked, and her smile was a little too tight at the edges to be real. Hvitserk was distracted by the low cut of her red dress, showing just the right amount of bust and clavicle, before blinking and looking ahead again.

The woman was positively beautiful, and God knows that Hvitserk has seen beautiful women in his life, but she attracted him in an almost painful way. Maybe it was because she was the only woman in the room that he couldn’t sleep with, being her boss and all that, but there was something about the way she smiled and moved that made his pants feel tighter than usual.

The Host was still talking, saying some jokes and telling funny stories, and people were laughing and nodding, but not her. She just smiled and looked at him, straightening in her chair and brushing the hair away from her face. She pulled her chest forward, and Hvitserk realized how desperate she was for her husband’s attention.

The man certainly didn’t pay attention to her; his eyes didn’t move to her once, only to his guests, and a woman with black hair and long legs took all his winks and flirting. Hvitserk wasn’t sure if the guests were too stupid to notice or too kind to mention it, but the Host had clearly invited his lover to a dinner with his wife.

Hvitserk couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for her. The woman was a good person, if he was bold enough to say that he knew her. Unlike some horror stories he had heard from his co-workers, Y/N wasn’t like other wealthy women with such a large staff.

It’s not like he’s his friend, but he’d spent enough time with her to know that she was actually a nice person. Maybe it was because she wasn’t born in the upper class, unlike him. She had entered this lifestyle thanks to her husband, and had adapted perfectly.

And that made his stomach roll, because she was so kind and sweet to the staff and never raised her voice to them and was sympathetic to their needs. She was a decent person, his mother would say, in a way that Hvitserk had never been.

The soft light of the dining room illuminated the way her lip curled into a pout, and  _holy hell_ , Hvitserk wanted to pull that pout between his own lips and bite it. The Hostess let out a defeated sigh when she realized that her husband wasn’t going to notice her dress or her hairstyle, and Hvitserk realized too late that he was still staring at her when she looked at him.

Her lips parted with surprise and her shoulders straightened, her chest coming forward in that tight red dress. Hvitserk knew that he should look away, knew there were certain unwritten rules that people like him should follow, and make eye contact with his superiors was one of them.

But goddamnit, he couldn’t look away. The way her chest rose and fell with each breath drove him mad, because if there was anything worse than looking into her eyes it would be looking at her breasts.

But she didn’t look away either. Her lips closed when she realized the expression she had, and Hvitserk pushed the images of what he would do with that mouth in the back of his mind. The Hostess straightened, brushing a strand of wild hair from her face, and her lips spread in a smile.

Hvitserk had been with so many women in the past, but this woman, this damn woman was smiling sincerely, kindly, and he  _knew_  that she noticed the hungry way he looked at her, but yet there was she, looking at him with sweetness, and Hvitserk returned the smile, because then he would feel like he had kicked a puppy if he didn’t.

Her smile stretched until her eyes wrinkled, satisfied with his reaction, and Hvitserk wanted to bang his head against the wall. No, he could never sleep with this woman. She was too sweet for him, she would get attached.

Hvitserk returned to reality when the other butlers began to move. The dinner was over and it was time to clean the table while the guests went out to the garden to continue drinking and talking. The Hostess stood up next to the others, and Hvitserk made eye contact with her one last time before she came out through the glass door.

Hvitserk got the kitchen behind the line of butlers, feeling like the main character in a caricature. It was a little humiliating the way the Host insisted that the staff should act; fast, stoic, perfectly in sync. Nothing should be out of place in his perfect life. Neither his clothes, nor his wife, nor his servitude. He heard him say that once.

The kitchen, unlike the living room, was chaotic. The dinner was served and the guests were satisfied, so the cooks could rest, but more dishes kept coming and the maids sweated to finish cleaning the kitchen before the party ended.

Hvitserk felt sorry for them, but there were times when he would rather be there than outside with Mr. I’m Too Rich To Remember Your Name. Hvitserk had to bite his tongue to avoid spitting that, in fact, he had as much money as the Host, it didn’t matter if he refused to use it. And it doesn’t matter that his bank account hasn’t been touched for months, Hvitserk was determined to find his own way, thank you very much.

He was about to sit near the window to smoke a well-deserved cigarette when a tray of cocktails was pushed into his hands. Hvitserk looked at the chief of staff with what he expected to be surprise and not annoyance, because the man only raised an eyebrow in his direction and pointed his chin at the door. No break this time, then.

Hvitserk went out into the garden holding the tray tightly, trying to relax his posture and look like the perfect butler who doesn’t mind anything at all. The guests had parted as they left, and Hvitserk would have to walk from one side to the other for half an hour until his tray was empty and each guest had a drink in their hand. Fantastic.

He almost tripped over his own feet when he saw the Hostess sitting away from the party. She was alone, as she usually did, and a glass of wine already filled her hand, but it was almost empty. Her eyes were focused on the angel fountain in the middle of the garden, but Hvitserk sensed that she wasn’t really admiring the sculpture.

She took off her heels and had raised her legs on the chair, bending them under herself. Hvitserk could see the guests stealing fleeting glances in her direction and muttering to each other. What is this woman doing, acting as if she was completely alone in the middle of a party?

 _What a scandal_ , Hvitserk felt the need to whisper to the couple on his left. Because it’s not like she’s in her own house and in her own garden, of course not. There are  _rules_ , and she is breaking them.

The Hostess rested her head on her hand with the saddest expression Hvitserk had ever seen. Just as at dinner, a pot adorned her lips and a look of nostalgia shone in her eyes. Hvitserk wanted to erase that expression from her face as soon as possible, before the guests realized that  _oh shit, Harold_ , she is three seconds away from crying.

“Hey, waiter.” A voice made him look away from her. The Host called him with a wave of his hand, and Hvitserk had no choice but to forget the Hostess and obey his boss. The man didn’t see him approach, but it was almost as if he could smell the alcohol nearby. The Host took a glass and took a long swallow before he looked at Hvitserk. “Hvitsork, isn’t it?”

Hvitserk had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes, “Yes, sir.” He lied, his voice sounding like that of a robot.

The Host hummed, giving his drink another sip. His eyes scanned the room before stopping at the black-haired woman chatting with a couple. The Host smiled and pointed at her with his glass, “She’s a beauty, don’t you think?”

Hvitserk looked at the woman’s long legs for a second before turning her gaze to the front, deciding that the floor was a safer place to put her eyes, “She’s lovely, sir.”

The Host laughed, a low rasping sound, and Hvitserk hated the sound. The Host patted him on the back, “Don’t be nervous, my friend. Look all you want. She likes it,” He said, and Hvitserk wanted to hit him so badly. The Host smiled broadly, his eyes fixed on his lover on the other side of the room, and perhaps it was the intensity of his gaze, but finally he became aware of his wife’s presence in the shadows of the garden.

The Host’s jaw clenched, as if the memory of his wife was an inconvenience, and he gestured for Hvitserk to come closer. “Take a drink to my wife, will you? She looks a bit blue.”

The man reminded him painfully of his younger brother, Ivar, that in a cruel twist of fate was now the head of his father’s company. Hvitserk wasn’t sure why, but there was something in the condescending manner in which the Host spoke and acted that reminded him of his brother.

Maybe it was the way he treated people as if they were less than him, or that arrogant smile that told you how insignificant you were, but Hvitserk still felt that he was still in the house on the hill with his brother, trying in vain to keep a bit of his dignity and not abandon the company that his father had worked so hard for.

A look at the way the Host smiled at his lover across the room, and Hvitserk remembered why he fled from his old home to escape his brother’s suffocating presence. He would never be treated as an equal there, and things hadn’t changed much for him now that he works as a butler for a man as an dick as Ivar.

Hvitserk smiled, his cheeks tense and his gloved fingers tightening the tray in his hands, “Of course, sir,” he said, and the Host dismissed him with a wave of his hand, as if he were a dog. Hvitserk straighted his shoulders and took another couple of laps around the garden before moving in the direction of the Hostess.

He walked along the stone path until the sounds of the party diminished and the only light that illuminated his surroundings was the small lamp that jutted between the plants near the fountain.

She still was sitting in the padded lawn chair, her glass now completely empty. Shee still looked sad, and Hvitserk wanted to kiss her until all she could say was his name.

“Miss.” Hvitserk paused at her side, one hand holding the now empty tray under his arm and the other offering the last glass.

Her gaze bounced between the cup and Hvitserk until she shook her head gently, “I’ve already drank a lot tonight,” she said, but reached up to take the cup anyway, putting her empty glass on the floor. Hvitserk smiled before he could help it, and she realized, smiling back, “And you know I’m a married woman, not a miss.”

The dim light of the streetlight illuminated her smile and the spark of amusement in her eyes, and Hvitserk swallowed the urge to run his thumb over those lips and ruin her perfect makeup.

Just like at dinner, her chest jutted out with his position and her bust attracted his gaze. The dress was piled on her knees in a pile of red silk, and the opening at the thigh was open wide, letting him see the skin of her thigh. Hvitserk felt like a hormonal teenager, getting excited just by seeing a little skin.

“You’re too beautiful to be married to that man,” he heard himself say, and felt his stomach turn into a knot.

The Hostess stopped her glass halfway to her mouth, both hands around the glass. Her red lips parted with surprise, and Hvitserk could feel his shoulders tense, “Excuse me, ma'am, that was so inappropriate-” He started to say.

“It’s okay…” She murmured, squeezing the glass between her hands. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, moving her head away from Hvitserk’s direction. She did not even move to look at him when her eyes opened, “Hvitserk, I… I can’t…”

Hvitserk took a moment to rejoice that  _yes_ , she remembers his name, before taking a step closer to her. He was pretty sure he was breaking at least seven rules of the unwritten code of butlers, but he couldn’t help the way his hand moved to push a lock of hair out of her face.

The Hostess finally looked at him, her big eyes filled with something Hvitserk couldn’t identify, “Hvitserk, I shouldn’t-”

“Nobody has to know,” he said, taking the glass from her hands and putting it on the floor next to the empty glass. His hand reached out to caress her cheek, and Hvitserk felt something pulling at his stomach when she closed her eyes and leaned on his touch, sighing contentedly. Hvitserk moved his thumb up and down her soft skin, and wondered if the rest of her body was that soft.

A scandalous laugh sounded from the party, and the Hostess’s eyes snapped open. His hand was brushed aside as she stood up, taking a step away from Hvitserk. “You are my butler, Hvitserk. I’m  _married._  We can’t do this.”

The Hostess turned to leave, but Hvitserk took her hand before she could take another step. The tray had been forgotten, and the Hostess turned around with bright eyes, her lips parted in a protest that died before slipping from her mouth.

“One time, it will only be once,” he said, and Hvitserk was surprised at the plea in his voice. He never had to beg a woman to sleep with her, and there he was, ready to kneel, either to beg or to eat her out.

The Hostess opened her mouth, perhaps to protest or call him a pervert, but her eyes moved to the party not far from her. People no longer looked at her, too busy paying attention to the story that a woman told with emotion.

Hvitserk took a step forward, and when the Hostess turned to look at him he was already looking at her, a little too close to be professional. The Hostess bit her lip, and Hvitserk brought his hand to press the flesh with his thumb before he could stop himself.

The Hostess looked at him with large, bright eyes as Hvitserk wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her even closer, her body flush with his. His thumb moved slowly over her lip, his eyes following the lipstick mark he left behind. The things he wanted to do with that mouth…

The Hostess closed her fists on the fabric of her jacket, her eyes closing at the same time her lips wrapped around his thumb, her tongue circling the his fingertip. Hvitserk let out a deep growl from his throat, feeling himself trembling inside his pants.

Hvitserk released his thumb with a little  _'pop’_ , pushing the Hostess until her back was against a thick tree. The party wouldn’t take long to finish, but the guests were still chatting and laughing and attentive to anything that could be good gossip material. Hvitserk had a good view of all of them from his hiding place, but the tree and the lack of lighting prevented the Host or anyone else from seeing them.

The Hostess pulled from his coat until her body was flush with his again, her hands moving slowly up his chest to his shoulders. Her hands left a path of fire where they passed, and Hvitserk felt his heart speed up and blood flow down instead of his brain. Maybe that’s why he leaned forward and captured the Hostess’s lips with his own; he really wasn’t thinking right.

It had been a while since he had last kissed someone, but Hvitserk hadn’t forgotten how to do it. The Hostess let out a sigh as soon as their lips were connected, her shoulders relaxed and her legs shaking. Hvitserk smiled against her lips and pressed her against the tree, feeling the need to keep her standing.

The Hostess opened her mouth, her lips painted red making a mess with his mouth, and Hvitserk squeezed his hands on her waist to avoid grabbing her bottom and pushing her against his aching erection. Hvitserk stuck his tongue inside her, feeling the vibrations in her mouth when she moaned, her hands sinking into his hair.

The Hostess whimpered, a soft, low sound, and Hvitserk told himself that his mission was to make her moan much louder than that. With more willpower than he thought would take, he parted his lips from hers and pushed her against the tree with his hips. The Hostess gasped when she felt his hard, hot cock against her pelvis.

Hvitserk nibbled his way down her jaw and throat, stopping to press small kisses against the skin behind her ear. The Hostess clung to his hair, her lips parted in soft moans and her legs separated by his knee. Hvitserk pushed forward until her crotch grazed his thigh, and with one movement of his leg he had her squeezing his hair tightly.

“Hvitserk.” She pleaded, her voice breathless. Hvitserk bit the skin between her neck and shoulder, earning a gasp of surprise, and then he kissed the bite to calm the pain. “My husband is right there.”

Hvitserk growled, lips closing on the skin behind her ear, “He doesn’t make you feel like me, does he?” He muttered, squeezing her hips and pressing her against his thigh, moving her up and down. The Hostess moaned, pressing her cheek against his head. “He doesn’t make you shiver, he doesn’t make you moan in the middle of the garden with all his friends a few meters away.”

Hvitserk ignored the voice in his head that was screaming at him  _what the hell do you think you are doing,_  because his perfect butler’s facade had completely disappeared and, dear God, he was about to fuck his boss’s wife against a tree. Hvitserk had done crazy things in his life, but this was in his top ten.

“No, he doesn’t. Hvitserk.” She gasped, her eyes closing, and Hvitserk pressed their foreheads together because holy shit, it must had been a long time for her because she was close, dangerously close. Hvitserk bounced his leg, his thigh slapping her pussy softly. The Hostess’s fingers sank into his arms, and Hvitserk took her chin and forced her to look at him.

“Do you want to cum, Y/N, huh?” He growled, his lips brushing hers. The Hostess opened her mouth and only a moan came out, her hips moving against his thigh in search of his release. “Do you want to cum all over my leg? Wet those cute panties of yours and my uniform so that everyone can see how much you enjoyed being here with me? I bet you do, darling, that’s exactly what you want.”

"You’re an asshole.” The Hostess grunted against his lips, her hands tightening in his hair, but Hvitserk heard the shiver in her voice.

“Tell me something I don’t know.” He bit her lip, pulling it between hIS teeth and smiling when she moaned. A drop of sweat went down his neck, and Hvitserk realized how sore he was inside his pants.

The Hostess whimpered, her hips rocking against his thigh, and Hvitserk couldn’t take it anymore. The Hostess’s eyes widened as Hvitserk wrapped his hand around her throat, pressing her back against the tree. She stepped back, untangling her legs, feeling the heat of her pussy fading from her leg.

“No.” She whimpered, and Hvitserk had to restrain herself from laughing, because it sounded like a little girl who had been denied a lollipop.

“Patience, ma'am,” he murmured, and pushed his hips against the tree. The Hostess seemed to want to protest, but the words died on her lips when Hvitserk brushed the strap of her dress. His fingers brushed the skin around the fabric before pulling it slowly down her arm, more skin being revealed as the dress fell. Hvitserk repeated the process with the other strap until the dress was piled on her waist, the straps jammed on her elbows.

Hvitserk knew that she wasn’t wearing a bra, but seeing her breasts exposed still left him breathless. The Hostess gasped at the cold night air against her bare skin, her arms rising to cover herself. Hvitserk stopped her movement and pressed her arms against the tree, keeping it exposed for him. The Hostess looked at him with eyes numbed with pleasure, and Hvitserk knew that she wouldn’t stand his games much longer.

Hvitserk buried his face in her neck, inhaling her perfume, and the Hostess trembled under his touch. Hvitserk ran his hands down her hips to her waist, taking his sweet time to feel each curve, and finally stopped just below her breasts. If they were in another place and at another time, Hvitserk would have feasted on the meat in front of him, but just at that moment he had his time counted.

His gloved hands rose slowly until they cupped both breasts, the Hostess letting out a contented sigh. Hvitserk gently squeezed the flesh in his hands, feeling it move under his fingers. She opened her mouth in a silent moan as his fingers encircled her nipples, the rough cloth of his gloves brushing the sensitive skin.

Hvitserk rubbed one of her nipples with his thumb, and the Hostess rested her head against the tree, her lips pressed together tightly and her knees trembling, “Are you sensitive here?” Hvitserk asked, barely looking away from her breast, and the Hostess nodded with her eyes closed.

Hvitserk smiled and rubbed both thumbs with his thumbs before pressing them with his fingers, squeezing them like grapes. The Hostess’s eyes snapped open, her hands coming up to clutch at his wrists and let out a loud, long moan.

Hvitserk took a look at the party to make sure no one had heard anything before returning his gaze to his partner. The Hostess was breathing hard and her eyes were shining with tears, her hands clutching at her wrists. “Shh, ma'am, you have to be quiet for me, okay?”

“Hvitserk.” She whispered his name like a prayer, and Hvitserk couldn’t tear his eyes away from her lips. He leaned down to kiss her long and deep, their tongues dancing together until his lungs screamed for oxygen, and Hvitserk pulled away from her.

He could hear the sounds of the party slowly diminishing, the guests beginning to tire. There wasn’t much left for the Host to finish the evening, but Hvitserk was very sure that he would leave the house to go with some of the men to a nightclub.

Hvitserk raised the skirt of her dress with impatience, the Hostess helping him to hold the fabric at her waist, and Hvitserk took a look at her cunt for the first time. She wore white lace panties, a little too small to cover much, and her excitement ran down her thighs. Poor creature, Hvitserk was killing her.

Hvitserk held back his smile and bowed until their noses touched, one hand holding her neck and another slowly sliding to her crotch. “I made you that wet, ma'am?”

The Hostess was panting, her hair disheveled and her chest rising and falling with each breath. “Yes, Hvitserk. Touch me, please.” She breathed, her voice trembling at the last word. Hvitserk didn’t know what he liked best; the way she pleaded or the way she said his name.

His gloved fingers brushed the skin over the edge of her panties, fiddling with the thin garter. The Hostess was breathing hard, her eyes never leaving the hand that was so close to giving her the pleasure she had been waiting all night. Hvitserk slowly pulled the garter down, just enough to expose the beginning of her pelvis.

Hvitserk swallowed a grunt when the Hostess sank her nails into his neck, his eyes darkening with lust. Hvitserk couldn’t take his eyes off her, even if she was focused on the hand that was now moving away from her pussy to go to his own mouth. Hvitserk pulled his glove with his teeth and threw him away, his skin wet with sweat cooling in the night air.

Now Hvitserk could feel better the lace under his fingers and the moisture that made her hot and sticky, and Hvitserk wanted to fall on his knees and devour her until there was no more moisture to lick, but time was running out.

The Hostess opened her mouth to say something,  _whatever_ , when Hvitserk finally pressed his fingers against her slit. The soft fabric interfered with the direct contact on her clitoris, but the harsh rose against her sensitive skin made her stagger forward. A wave of pleasure seized her body, and Hvitserk watched as her boss gasped under his fingers.

He pressed harder, moving his fingers up and down, alternating his attention between her clit and her entrance, pressing against the tight wet hole through the fabric. The Hostess gasped and whimpered at his touches, and Hvitserk wondered how much time had passed since she had been touched in this way.

Her lips parted in a silent scream as Hvitserk pulled her panties up, trapping her clit in the damp lace. “Hvitserk…!” She whimpered, her eyes closing tightly.

"Shh, darling, you have to be quiet to me.” Hvitserk whispered on her forehead, his lips brushing the hair adhered to her skin by the sweat. He could only imagine how he looked under all the layers of his uniform. The Hostess nodded slightly, her hands squeezing the fabric of his coat like anchors.

Hvitserk released the pressure of her panties and pushed them aside, taunting her with gentle touches on the skin that joins her crotch with her thighs. The Hostess trembled, beads of sweat trickling down her collarbone and sliding between her bare breasts. Hvitserk moved his fingers painfully slowly until they finally reached the moist heat of her core.

The Hostess silenced a moan in his chest, and Hvitserk took it as a signal to move on. One hand held her head against his chest, holding it in place, and the other sank into her delicious pussy, feeling every curve and crease as if it were his cock that was moistening with her arousal and not his fingers.

Her clitoris felt different without the fabric of her panties to block his way, but that didn’t stop him from pressing it like a button. The Hostess shook under his grip, and Hvitserk held her more firmly.

His fingers moved and explored until they reached her opening, his fingers sinking into her moist heat as they registered that they could go deeper and deeper. The Hostess opened her eyes and buried her face in his neck, her wet lips brushing his skin as she pleaded for more.

“Please, please, please.” Moans slipped from her lips like a prayer, and Hvitserk almost came right there without even a touch on his aching cock.

It had been a while for him, too, since the last time he had felt the delicious warmth of a woman. The work had kept him so busy the last few months, he barely had time to jack off in the darkness of his apartment.

Now, however, he had this amazing woman rubbing against his hand and slapping her way to his pants, and Hvitserk didn’t even have enough blood in his brain to realize the consequences this could bring.

Hvitserk rammed his fingers inside the Hostess, her soft moans and muffled grunts at his neck, and Hvitserk felt his own knees begin to shiver. Her walls were so damn tight but so wet, Hvitserk could slip in and out so easily.

His eyes felt heavy, and his hand began to ache from the bent position in which he had it, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to stop now. The Hostess pressed a kiss to his neck, her lips lingering on his skin. "It feels so good, Hvitserk, keep going. Please.”

Hvitserk grunted, his fingers going in and out from her with fury, and the Hostess moans trembled. Hvitserk pressed her against the tree again, his hips rocking with hers and his lips joining with hers. His hand quickened until the sounds of her wetness were all he could hear, and Hvitserk knew that the friction on her clitoris must be painful at this moment, but she just clung to his hair tightly and mewled.

Hvitserk sank his free hand into her hair, his breathing accelerating more and more with every second. His fingers were so deep in her heat, and with a single movement of his finger, the Hostess opened her mouth against his, the sounds of her moans muffled by his tongue. Hvitserk pressed that place again, and then again and again, and the Hostess bit her lip while she finally let go.

The Hostess trembled from head to toe, parting from the kiss and sinking her face into his neck, her hands shivering frantically as they searched for something to cling to. Her legs wobbled and before she could fall to her knees on the floor, Hvitserk held her upright between his body and the tree. Her walls squeezed impossibly hard around his fingers and a flow of excitement came out of her, moistening his hand and her thighs.

When her tremors finally stopped, the Hostess stood still in his arms, her death grip on his coat weakened, and finally she lifted her head, her eyes fuzzy. Hvitserk pulled his fingers gently from her, earning a soft moan.

The Hostess leaned forward, her hand closing in the crotch of his pants, and Hvitserk had to bite his tongue to keep from howling. He was going to regret this later, but he used all his willpower to push her hand away anyway.

“Next time. Now we have to clean you.” He said with what he wanted to believe was a firm voice, but there was a undeniable tremor in his voice. The hostess did something akin to a pout, but nodded anyway.

The sounds of the party had almost completely disappeared, but Hvitserk could still see most of the guests. The conversation was no longer noisy, and the wives were starting to look for their coats. The Hostess followed his gaze.

"We should go back soon.” Hvitserk muttered, but he had already pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and was rubbing it across her face to clean her ruined makeup and sweat. The Hostess looked at him with bright eyes, a small smile pulling from her lips. Hvitserk imited her, “What?”

“Did you just take a handkerchief out of nowhere to clean me up?” She said, her grin widening. Hvitserk rolled his eyes. “You are a fantastic butler, Hvitserk.”

Hvitserk shook his head almost imperceptibly, “I’m the best butler you’ll ever have.”

“Umm.” She hummed as Hvitserk wiped the lipstick from her chin, “On that I agree.”

Hvitserk wiped her face and cleaned the sweat from her neck and collarbone, and lingered a little longer than necessary on her breasts, but finally settled her dress in place. The Hostess stepped forward, her legs shaking like jelly.

Hvitserk stepped back, arranging his uniform and his hair. He couldn’t ley the Host notice how agitated he looked. He doesn’t like when his servitude is anything less than perfect.

The Hostess adjusted her hair, her eyes focused on the party and her husband, who had an arm around the black haired woman’s waist. But she didn’t look sad anymore, Hvitserk noticed. A little nostalgic, but her lips no longer curled in that grimace of sadness that had been there all night.

Hvitserk was still watching her when she returned her attention to him, and was caught looking at her a second time that night. There were few things that blushed Hvitserk, but the way the Hostess looked at him with that half-sided smile shouldn’t be one of them.

The Hostess stepped closer to him, her hands smoothing the wrinkles of his uniform gently. She was no longer agitated at all, as if she hadn’t been fucked with his fingers against a tree just a few minutes ago. Her lips stretched into a soft smile, the kind of smile that Hvitserk had learned to fear.

The Hostess didn’t stop touching him, “Thank you,” she said, and Hvitserk knew that she was sincere for the way she looked at him, in that way that Hvitserk knew had a true feeling. He didn’t have time for feelings. The Hostess squeezed his shoulder. “For helping me forget him tonight. I promise I won’t bother you again.”

Hvitserk wanted to scream for so many different reasons. He wanted her to bother him again, as much as she wanted, and he wanted her not to look at him ever again because Hvitserk knows how easy it is for a woman as sweet as her to get attached.

Ignoring all the warning alarms in his head, Hvitserk took her chin in his hand and lifted it up so she looked into his eyes, "Always at your service, ma'am,” he whispered, his fingers stinging to draw her towards him.

The Hostess opened her mouth and closed it again, and Hvitserk would have given anything to know what she was about to say. She stepped back as if to put a little distance between them, but Hvitserk bent down and kissed her anyway, holding her head with one hand and wrapping her waist around the other.

Her shoulders tensed for a total of five seconds before she released a long breath through her nose and then she was melting into the kiss, running her hands up and down his chest. Hvitserk still had no fucking idea of what he was doing, because she had already made it clear that she wouldn’t try to take things further that night and there he was, sucking her inner lip in his mouth and sinking his fingers into her hair, ruining it again.

He stepped back just long enough to fill his lungs with air, the Hostess breathing heavily, her eyes closed and her lips curved still waiting for another kiss. Hvitserk brushed his mouth with hers, the contact too light to be called a kiss, but she sighed as if it was.

Hvitserk ran a hand down her back, trying to feel more of her body in the few moments they had left, and the Hostess pressed his neck, pulling him closer.

“There’s something in you…” he whispered so low that he wasn’t even sure if he said it out loud. “It makes me absolutely crazy.”

The Hostess smiled against his lips, and Hvitserk wanted to bang his head against a wall because he wasn’t supposed to be doing this, he wasn’t supposed to be kissing and caressing his boss in the darkness of the garden as if they were lovers. Or maybe they  _did_ were lovers already.

The Hostess pressed a last kiss to his lips, lingering a few seconds more to savor it and nibble his lower lip, and then she was backing away and Hvitserk couldn’t reach her this time.

“Let’s go back now,” she said casually, picking up her heels off the floor and running a hand through her hair. The light from the streetlight illuminated her as she waited for Hvitserk to pick up his glove and the wine glasses, one empty and one full.

She walked ahead of him as they returned to the party, Hvitserk quickly returning to his role of perfect butler, holding both cups with one hand and the empty tray with the other.

And as they approached the party and some couples said goodbye to the Host, the Hostess looked over her shoulder so quickly that Hvitserk barely noticed that she did, but the look in her eyes told him everything he should know.

That wouldn’t be the last night they would spend together.

**Author's Note:**

> I TOLD YOU I’M TERRIBLE AT SEX SCENES.
> 
> I was halfway into writing this piece of shit when I realized it could have been way easier if I wrote it from the reader’s pov, but I already had so much done that I didn’t had the heart to delete it and start over. Also, I think I got too carried away with Hvitserk’s backstory, but whatever.
> 
> As always, let me know what you think and if you see any mistake, don’t be shy and tell me!


End file.
